Senseless in another city

I was leaving the men's room at gate C2 in the D/FW airport. Another guy was walking in — and singing.

"Don't," he sang. "Don't you want me ..."

Kudos for directness, dude, but you should stick with tapping your feet and assuming a wide stance.

We love the rain in Las Vegas ....

..... no matter what it does to the pool.

Salute

I was just another schlub crossing the street, as far as I knew. But for some reason the passenger in the truck at the stoplight noticed me.

He stuck his arm out the window and was yelling something I couldn't hear. Whatever. I kept walking; he's calling out to someone else. No. There's no one else walking here. So ... what?

So he's waving? No, not waving ... he's, um, got his arm straight out. And he's saying something, I just can't quite hear what it is. But why me? I don't know this guy.

At this point I should probably mention that this gentleman is African-American.

So, as I reached the other side of the street, and as the truck drove off with a green light, I figured it out. His arm was straight out. He was yelling, mockingly, "White power! White power!"

That's a new one.

Okay, so, sure, I'm a white guy with a shaved head who, at that particular moment in time, was wearing a brown shirt.

But does that make me a neo-Nazi?

Help! Someone! Anyone!

I've been profiled!

Rack 'em

What do you see when you look at this rack?

Did you say "a pressing First Amendment issue"?

No? C'mon — wasn't that the first thought that came to mind?

Yeah, me neither.

But that's the attitude of the ACLU types now that Clark County (most of The Strip is in Clark County, not Las Vegas proper) has quadrupled the fee for news racks in the "resort corridor," to $100 from $25. There are about 2,700 of these things — who knew? — but I'm not sure if all of those are on The Strip.

The ones that are on The Strip are almost exclusively ads for escorts and strippers. (Ahem: "This is not an offer of prostitution. Any money exchanged is for time and companionship only" blah blah etc.)

There is a civil liberties point, though, in that it looks like Clark County is targeting these naughty advertisements by making distribution prohibitively expensive. That's what the law school types call a "content-based restriction," which is a big First Amendment no-no.

Ah, schizophrenic Vegas. We play up Sin City and the "what happens here, stays here" line, then get all in a tizzy when someone actually tries to lead a tourist to temptation. Or when our mayor says brothels should open downtown. Or when a strip club tries to get downtown redevelopment money. Amazingly, we were a little late to the lingerie-and-coffee business — no protests yet, as far as I know.

Anyway, Clark County has gotten itself dinged before on free speech issues. An effort to ban people from handing out escort fliers failed — sadly, I think, because those hawkers are annoying. And now I'm guessing we'll get another court fight over the right to distribute poorly produced smut.

God Bless America!

(Related stories here and here.)

Blind spot

People in Vegas don't watch where they're going. And it's contagious.

I've seen it in the casinos, the stores, the sidewalks, the roads — people moving one direction and looking somewhere else. I'm starting to do it, too. I catch myself cutting people off as I walk down the street or through the grocery store; twice now I've almost run red lights, straight into left-turn traffic, while my attention was elsewhere. One of those times I stopped with two-thirds of my car in the intersection, the contents of my back seat dumped on the floor. I can't even remember the last time I was close to running a red light.

True, all metro areas have their distractions, but this is something more. I think this particular aversion to watching where you're going is an essential part of Vegas — in fact, it's one of the cornerstones of what I'm calling the Vegas-American Dream.

Vegas is a sustained boomtown. Sustaining the boom requires a certain willful blindness about basic realities. Locals ignore that we're living in a desert, and visitors ignore the odds against them striking it rich on their vacation.

Boom.

Consider this: The theory goes that every hotel room requires 5 to 7 people to service that room — be it construction to build the room, hotel staff, casino dealers, and the doctors, lawyers, grocers, video store clerks, etc. to serve the servicers. And despite the real estate downturn, new construction continues. Three developments on the Strip alone will add about 11,000 new hotel rooms in the next couple of years, and there's also the Union Park plan for downtown, a host of high-rise condo projects, and plans for a new casino-hotel anchoring a subdivision out by Kyle Canyon.

This at a time when the water in Lake Mead, our main water source, has dropped so low that one of the pumping stations isn't expected to be underwater much longer.

But this makes sense when you're in the grips of the Vegas-American Dream. No matter what the odds, you can't win if you don't play, so throw your chips on the table!

Reminds me of our invasion of Iraq. (The dream is contagious.)

An ounce of prevention

Seen at the local Blockbuster Video — are they worried O.J.'s coming back to town and might rent a movie? (Maybe he'll be demanding commemorative copies of "The Klansman" or "Naked Gun: The Final Insult.")

I know if I was an armed robber, and I wanted to use Halloween as a cover to catch people off guard by dressing up as Rambo, complete with live ammunition, this sign would sure stop me. I'd say, "Oops. Can't bring my gun in. Ah, shucks! Guess I better rob the dollar store next door."

And is this just on Halloween? Can I wear a Nixon mask and carry my sword on, say, the Fourth of July?

Will be food for ...

Today makes two guys I've seen now on Sahara — one at Las Vegas Boulevard, one at Rancho — who were working their respective corners, all disheveled, carrying scrap-sized cardboard signs that simply said, "FOOD."

At first I was impressed with the declarative brevity of their pitches. But then I thought: What if it's not a request?

What if it's a ...... label?

As in: "Eat me"?

As in: "I'm tired, broke and homeless, and I'm tired of being tired, broke and homeless. But I'm free, and I'm a good source of protein!"

Maybe Sahara Avenue is some kind of weird cruising strip for cannibals! Just imagine — right there, on one of the most heavily traveled stretches of Vegas, a passage for millions of drivers and pedestrians and tourists every year — dark, unspeakable contracts are being signed in blood right out in the open!

Hello, Anthony Zuiker? Call me! I've got your next CSI episode all ready to go.

Vegas oddities

1. Cash is essential (and not just for gambling): Believe it or not, there are places — even in the central entertainment districts — that don't take credit or debit cards. That's kind of understandable in a place like Uncle Joe's Pizza (home of the $4 lunch for two!), but the deli counter of the Golden Gate Casino? The bartender at The Library even told me "cash only" a while back, although that sounded like their credit card machine was down. Still, how often in recorded history has a strip club not taken any form of currency offered?

On a related note, the Nevada Gaming Commission recently shut down an effort to allow slot players to get voucher tickets directly from an ATM-like machine, instead of having to start with cash. There are also those who would like gamblers to be able to insert their cards directly into a slot machine and make entire bank accounts available for play.

Both are bad ideas. Casinos would make more money than they do now off of ATM and credit card fees, but they don't need the bad publicity of people draining their bank accounts or maxing out credit cards in a weekend or an afternoon.

2. People here drive the speed limit: On major roads! Even on the freeway! And not just tourists!

I can't think of any reason this would be. Sure, we gamble, serve liquor all night, often for free, and have legalized prostitution in the state, but hey, let's drive the speed limit!

The only way it makes sense is if a lot of people have a reason to drive slowly — people with two felonies or DUIs, or no insurance, or otherwise just plain scared of getting pulled over. But why are they always in front of me?

All work and all the play

Arguing persuasively for a career change:


Because, as everyone knows. dental assistants get ALL the ass.

(Well, a healthy mouthful, anyway.)

Viva la action!

I, like, totally saw this.

Not the crash, but an earlier part of the chase. The driver careened around the corner of Ogden and Las Vegas Blvd. downtown, then tore around the corner down Fremont, right at the end of the Fremont Street Experience.

It's a busy intersection. Cars scattered, probably because of the sirens blaring on the half-dozen cop cars closing in, and he made it through — amazingly, I thought, because the cops were right on his ass.

You can't tell it from the photo, but the car was in bad shape before the crash. The windshield had a cantaloupe-sized hole in it in front of the driver, the rear bumper was hanging off and it wasn't running too smoothly. Still, he made it from North Las Vegas to the wrong side of the road on the Strip, about 10 miles in a straight line — and he wasn't going in a straight line.

The R-J called it a high-speed chase. When I saw it, though, they weren't going more than 15 mph. He passed slowly enough for me to get a good look at his face. He looked vacant, his mouth hanging open, eyes unblinking and dead. Police say he stole the car and charged him with two counts of battery with a deadly weapon, so I guess he wasn't a zombie. But he looked like he was running on autopilot. Maybe he just figured there was nothing else for him to do but push it as far as he could.

I can't believe my eyes

I have a strange condition. I don't perceive things right sometimes. In fact, it sometimes seems my brain deliberately twists what I see and hear, purely for prurient or amusement purposes. It's not me poking fun; it's my actual experience.

An example: In college, my buddies and I were brainstorming a name for an annual football game for those of us stuck at school for the Thanksgiving holidays. We were trying for a play on Christmas, and one guy said, in an ominous voice, "Season's greetings!" You know, like, "I just knocked you down! Happy holidays!"

But I heard "Season's beatings!" — which I repeated, and everyone burst out laughing and a tradition was born.

I think this condition is only getting worse here in Vegas. There's so much visual stimuli, much of it already naughty, that my misinterpretation lobe is working overtime. Take this sign:



Invariably, I read "Loose sluts!" out of the corner of my eye. (Then again, that might be the intent .... and who measures whether a slut is exactly 25 percent looser, anyway?)

I hit a new low the other day, though. At a stop light, my peripheral vision picked up part of a sign: An N and a T, and a V, and an OR.

My brain flashed to "GIANT VIBRATOR."

The light turned green. In the intersection, I was able to see what the sign actually said.

It was the Saint Viator Catholic Church.

Yep. If hell exists, my bunk is already booked.

Random bits

1. Sign on Jake's, a bar on Eastern Blvd.: "If you drink to forget," it says, "please pay in advance."

2. If you've ever wondered whether having ads on your blog pays real money, I can testify that it does. As of yesterday, Google owed me all of one U.S. cent.

3. This story unfortunately leaves out some of the better details of the investigation into an illegal massage parlor in Las Vegas. (Yes, some things are illegal here. Like armed robbery. The ol' "what happens in Vegas" slogan ain't working, O.J.)

The police had just arrested one masseuse on prostitution charges and were asking one of the owners about the business. I have no idea what goes on behind those closed doors, the owner said, and I'm just here performing wraps and facials.

The detective was skeptical and asked to see the equipment used to warm towels. (I guess Vegas cops know their way around a spa. Go figure.) The owner pointed out, in the officer's words, "a rice cooker in the literal sense which did not look very sanitary."

A PDF of the very entertaining report is available here. (Click on agenda item 67.)

Rental Romeo update (reader discretion advised)

I guess the competition for sleaziest roommate ad is an ongoing one, and we have a new champion. Indeed, this fellow sets the bar so high (as in low), I doubt he'll be beaten in our lifetimes. He certainly blows the old champ out of the stadium.

So here it is, under the title, "OPEN MINDED PETITE FEMALE WANTED FOR FWB/RWB":

Here's this teenage girl with the same DNA as you and all I can do is think of how much she looked like you when you were 18. And that just about makes me cry. And then it turns out Vicky's really into the whole anal thing, that gets me to thinking about how many times I pressured you about trying it ...

It gets worse from there — apparently he's creating santorum with his ex-girlfriend's little sister, yet still makes a plea to get back with his ex. Then he actually gets to his roommate ad for his 3 br/2.5 ba place:

Hello LADIES of Sin City..are you an OUTCALL ONLY service provider OR an open minded,petite spinner,do you have problems with your credit so your housing options are limited,do you live in one of those run down,drug infested daily/weeklys ... Rent is Neg.upon services provided around the home.....I am for real,please be also....

Why is all this in the same ad? Who the hell knows? You've got to work really, really hard to mangle a Craigslist post this badly. Best of luck to you, dude.

Now, it took me long enough, but I figured out "friend with benefits" and "roommate with benefits." But what the hell's a "spinner"?

(P.S. Want to read the whole ad? Of course you do. Here.)

Nitty gritty

Las Vegas is all abuzz these days with its Downtown Renaissance. Fremont Street, East Fremont, the Arts District, high-rise condo projects, new neon signs, new trendy nightspots ... the mayor, cracking wise as usual, even advised some folks to rob a bank so they could buy downtown real estate, because pretty soon it would be too valuable even for bank robbers to acquire.

Which is all good - but no one seems to have informed the homeless people of the imminent gentrification.

For you casual Vegas visitors, you should know that most of The Strip is not Las Vegas. It's in Clark County. The actual city of Las Vegas starts, for the most part, at Sahara Avenue on the north end of the strip, near the Stratosphere, and goes north from there ... yes, the sketchy, scary part of Las Vegas Boulevard. There's a little island of pleasantness around the Fremont Street Experience, El Cortez and City Hall, but north, east and south of those locations can be pretty grim.

Indeed, a park across the street from City Hall has been nicknamed the Stewart Street Hotel because it's overrun with homeless people during the day. (And who can blame them? Great shade in that park.) Which means people who spend any amount of time downtown - and really, it's worth a visit - need to be prepared.

So, for your consideration, I offer:

THE SENSELESS CITY GUIDE
TO DEALING WITH HOMELESS PEOPLE

• DO acknowledge the homeless person; nod, say hi, engage in meaningless banter.
• DO NOT actually have a conversation.
• If walking, DO NOT stop for any reason.

I'm downtown a lot for work, and it's amazing how these first three rules solve pretty much any issue.

For instance, the other day, as I was walking to my car, a man started calling out to me as I approached.

"Blah blah blah blah?" he said.

"Sorry. Can't hear you," I answered.

"Blah blah blah blah?" he said again.

I put my finger to my ear and shrugged, never breaking stride. Finally we were close enough to converse.

"Are you a police officer?" he said.

"No," I said, still walking. (It wasn't a strange question; we were close to a police station.)

"I didn't think so," the man said, moving back to his bench where a half-peeled orange was waiting for him. "You know, I have a lot of problems in my life."

"Don't we all," I replied, still moving. My back was now toward him.

"What? I can't hear you," he said.

I smiled; he'd turned that around nicely. I looked over my shoulder and repeated, "Don't we all?" - and just kept going.

The point is, homeless people are almost never aggressive, as long as you acknowledge them as a person sharing the same space as you, show no fear and demonstrate that you're just going to go about your business.

• DO NOT give a homeless person money.
• If standing still — for instance, waiting at a crosswalk — DO NOT cringe, make a face, or move away from the person.
• If necessary, DO stand your ground.

So it's not charitable, but there it is. A couple of times a week I get hustled for spare change (one guy actually asked for a dime; like, wow, man, that's so 60's), and I always just shake my head pleasantly (I hope) and keep walking.

The thing is, you can't get annoyed about it. These folks are just trying to scavenge something from the day. Sometimes, however, you have to be firm.

This is particularly the case at the east end of Fremont Street, where there's an ATM. It's right across the street from City Hall, yet it's still a sketchy corner, and withdrawing money there is always a little nerve-wracking.

One evening I was taking out my weekend party funds there when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a disheveled-looking man walking behind me. "Hey," he said, "you got a five for me?"

"Not today," I answered jovially, and he continued down the street. Then he stopped and turned around.

"Can I ask you a question?" he said.

"No," I said, is as much of a James Earl Jones voice I could muster. (Seriously — would Darth Vader get hassled at the cash machine?)

He gave me a dirty look. That pissed me off. He's the one who committed the major breach of street etiquette by trying to engage a stranger in conversation during an active ATM transaction. And he's gonna get huffy with me? The guy stood there for a moment while I ignored him. Then he gave an annoyed snort and walked off.

• DO NOT antagonize or criticize a homeless person.

This is my favorite homeless guy story. It was many years ago in New Orleans, and I was walking down a crowded Canal Street with a group of friends. A short, slight homeless guy approached us (in my memory, he resembles the Benjamin character on Lost) and asked for money.

"Get a job," I sneered. (Yeah, I know. How original! But c'mon — I was 18 and trying to look cool.)

That set him off. His face contorted in anger, and he followed us a little ways down the street. Then he hoisted himself up on a lamp post so that his head and shoulders were above the pedestrians and let me have a piece of his mind:

"The burning hellfire awaits the unbelievers!" he shouted. "Cursed are those who turn their backs on Jesus!" .... or something like that. It was vintage "Jesus gonna roast you in hell for your sins" gibberish.

But, in his own way, the guy had a point. There was no reason for me to be a jerk.

I'm shocked. Shocked!

A U.S. District Court ruling on brothels is still making waves.

In July, the court struck down a state law that kept brothels from advertising in counties where prostitution is illegal, and since then we've had one of those truck-mounted billboards cruising near The Strip and brothel ads appearing in Las Vegas CityLife and the edition of the Review-Journal that is distributed in tourist areas.

So we've got advertising in Las Vegas for brothels, which are legal in many parts of Nevada but not in Clark County — which to me is like making marijuana legal everywhere in Oregon except for Portland and Eugene.

But what's really funny is watching people get their panties all twisted up over the prospect of seeing a brothel ad. The state attorney general has promised to appeal the decision, but I'm not liking his chances — the case is going to the 9th Circuit, which is the court that said "under God" in the Pledge of Allegiance constitutes a religious endorsement. Still, the Supreme Court could help him out.

Until then, though, we'll have ads for brothels. In Las Vegas!

Holy shit!

People will know they can buy sex in Nevada!

Legally!

Seriously, that seems to be the concern of Larry Struve, who was quoted in the R-J as wondering whether Stephens Media (which owns the R-J and CityLife) was being a good corporate citizen:

"If these ads are in the largest newspaper in Nevada," Struve said, "people will have the impression that it is approved."

Uh, dude? These brothels are legal. That means they're already approved.

Then he said, "We want to create an image of the state as a family-friendly place."

Poor Larry. Family friendly? This place was built on being explicitly unfriendly to families - hell, downright hostile. Vegas is no place for the meek, the weak, or children.

To make this state family friendly, you'd have to get rid of the brothels, along with the casinos - which are everywhere, you know. On my daily commute, I go through at least two school zones that are right in front of casinos.

Then, of course, the neighborhood strip clubs and massage parlors have to go (where else are you going to find a massage place that's open 'til midnight right next to a Washington Mutual bank branch?). Also, the liquor stores, and the liquor aisles and slot machine rooms at the grocery stores, and pretty much all the entertainment in town - which will be gone anyway, because most of the shopping, bowling, dance clubs, live music venues and movie theaters are - guess what? - in the casinos!

And what will you have then? A dull version of Utah, that's what - except hotter, with less water and no skiing. Oh, and no tax revenue, either.

Yeah, that's a goal.

True glitz

This has happened to me twice now, once in the Tropicana and once in the Flamingo. In both cases, I was strolling idly across the casino floor when I was stopped in my tracks by a showgirl.

The Tropicana is home to the Folies Bergere, an old-school showgirls production. The closest thing the Flamingo has is X Burlesque, but their parent company, Harrah's, also owns Bally's, and there you can see Jubilee!, another classic.

Anyway, it was probably an advertising stunt to sell tickets, but on those two nights striking young women strutted across the casino wearing heels, fishnets, tiny sequined bikinis and feathered headdresses. Heads turned, naturally, but the images have stuck with me for months, and I think I've figured out why.

You hear nostalgia for "Old Vegas" from time to time — that it was more glamorous then, that the Mob actually let people win money, that it was a classier town, geared toward stars, high rollers and beautiful people. Maybe all that's true. Maybe opening up the town to the masses punctured the bubble of what had been a true fantasy playscape open only to those who truly belonged.

That's why the sequined beauties were so striking. For a moment, a piece of that dream world was sharing the casino floor, strutting by so close you could touch her (as long as you didn't mind being tackled by casino security) ... they were visiting shades of high roller heaven, so different from us mortal schlubs in our tennis shoes and baggy T-shirts who were risking tiny piles of money in increments of $5 or less.

And then — like our money — the showgirls disappeared without a trace.

Life comes at you

The move to Vegas happened quickly.

I'd actually been feeling settled in the job I'm leaving, and in the town. Not satisfied, really, but I'd reached a point where I wasn't striving for something new anymore, except for a promotion at work I had half a shot at. Just lead the life you've been dealt, I thought (go here for some of those adventures), and even if it was going to be kind of a grind, I'd accepted it.

Then, one afternoon at the end of July, my phone rang. It was an employer in Vegas on the line; I'd sent in a resume months beforehand. We had a quick chat, and within a few weeks they'd checked my references, flown me down for an interview and made the kind of job offer I'd been looking for, which I immediately accepted.

Head-spinning? Yes. Exhilarating? Sure.

But surprising? No.

See, July had been brutally hot, the kind of desert furnace heat that doesn't fade until 1 a.m. On the day I got that phone call, though, I awoke early in the morning to the sound of insistent raindrops and felt a cool, moist breeze coming through my window.

Now, it would be facile to claim that the rain, that the break in the heat wave, was some kind of "sign." (Like a whole rainstorm was for my benefit. Intriguing idea, but yeah right.) Still .... but .... see, I was drifting back to sleep as the rain petered out, and one thought kept poking its way into my fading consciousness:

Something's changed.

Rental Romeos

There's a curious phenomenon you'll encounter when searching for an apartment in Las Vegas — at least, you will if you search for an apartment on Craigslist. Some people are confusing the rental listings with the personals:

Brand new SW Las Vegas 3800 sq ft home. Near 215 and Durango.
The house is two story.2 bedroom furnished, each bedroom has it’s
own bathroom, carpeted, have blinds. All the appliances are brand new (
side by side refrigerator, front, loading washer/dryer, dishwasher and
much more. No pets, non-smokers preferred, clean, responsible, quiet
area. Seek professional female (Asian) preferred.

Weird, huh? (AND the poster used the wrong form of "its"!) Now, Exhibit A is not the strongest example of this phenomenon — it's not clear that the poster is even male, although the suggestion is quite strong. Plenty of renters seek female roommates because there are already women in the house, or because a bathroom is shared, etc. Still, unless you've got "me love you long time" fantasies, why would you specifically ask for an Asian girl?

Okay, onward:

SUBMISSIVE FEMALE WANTED
WOULD LIKE TO RENT TO A PERSON THAT WOULD HELP A LITTLE
AROUND THE HOUSE WITH SOME COOKING , CLEANING & ETC .
WE SMOKE CIGS. & HAVE PETS . OPEN MINDED TO ALL OFFERS .
HAVE ?s PLEASE ASK , THANKS

Rent trades are not uncommon — but submissive? (Of course, a dom girl isn't exactly going to clean up after you, right?)

Next we have this sleazebag, although I will give him points for honesty:

Room for free! Pretty willing girls only!
I own a beautiful home on the south side of town — if you're a pretty lady,
broke, and need someone to take care of you ... contact me.

I feel dirty having copied and pasted that. Take five while I wash my hands ... you may need to disinfect your eyeballs. Just don't use pure bleach, okay?

Alright. Finally, now, here's the champ:

$500/1br Are you looking for a room to rent? I have one for you

Hi I'm looking for the right person to rent a room to.
Actually the right female to rent to. She must be
honest and able to make due on the rent. .....

There's more, but it's just standard claptrap. So, you're saying, what makes this guy stand out from the pack? The "make due on the rent" part is a little sleazy, but not explicit. No, his winning touch is the photograph he included "so you know who you will be living with":




Now, the pic is sleazy enough on its own — "Look at me! I'm a player! Move in today, baby!" — but let's put it in context. Well-placed sources inform me that this shot appears to have been taken at the annual Adult Entertainment Expo in Las Vegas, which means this girl is probably an exotic dancer or a porn star. And God bless her for that.

The point is, what woman wants to be roommates with a guy who gets his picture taken with a scantily clad, silicon-chested chick who's only posing with him because she's being paid to? Does that woman exist? No, say I, she does not!

.... But if you want to prove me wrong, e-mail me. My place is bigger than his, and we've got a private pool.

And I definitely won't make you clean.